He's there inside of my mind
by TheatreGirl81
Summary: Raoul is plagued by headaches that result in memory loss and Philippe is determined to keep his brother away from Christine. Can the three of them put the internal feud aside long enough to defeat the Phantom?
1. Chapter 1

There was a ghost at the Opera Populaire long before the Phantom walked the halls. She was a little thing, blonde and ethereal with hollow blue eyes. She was lost in the halls of the great building, and could slip through the crowds without being noticed.

She wore white, as did all the ballerinas. She moved with them, but her movements were rote and held no passion. She slept in their dormitory, shared their meals, and even spoke to them on occasion. But she was alone, and living without emotions was not living.

This was how she grew; only letting in a select few, like Madam Giry, the Ballet Mistress and her daughter Meg. But again, it was rote, doing what she needed to survive. He freedom was dancing and singing, though no angel ever came to her rescue.

But there was one emotion that Christine Daaé felt: sadness. And when she was alone she would allow that emotion to rule her. She cried for the mother she never knew. For the father who passed away when Christine was ten. And for Raoul, the only friend she had known in her young life.

* * *

The Vicomte de Chagny was going through some difficult times.

He was the pampered second son of the prominent family. He looked up to older brother Philippe and looked after his two sisters. Raoul loved the life he led, but not the responsibility his title included.

He wanted to be carefree and live life as he would, but society dictated a certain way of life for his class. He had gotten a taste of fun when he was a child. He had visited the shore and had watched a violinist perform alongside his daughter, Christine. Both had exceptional music talent, and Raoul had longed to meet the girl who was around his age.

They met a few days later when Raoul, giving no thought to himself, ran into the sea to fetch Christine's errant scarf. They became fast friends and Gustave Daaé taught Raoul an appreciation for music.

Even though it wasn't proper, Christine and Raoul kept up a friendship and when Christine's father passed away Raoul felt the loss too. Christine was lost, but clung to the last words her father had said: "When I am in heaven child, I will send you the Angel of Music."

Raoul had clung to the words as well, an Angel to watch over Christine when he couldn't be there for his friend. And when Christine's patron, Monsieur Valerius, sent her to the Opera House to study Raoul could only send letters.

But now, at the age of twenty, the Viscount was fighting for his life. He had been out at sea, one passion he was allowed to indulge in, when his boat had hit an obstacle. He had been thrown overboard and had almost drown. He had been rescued, but suffered some lasting damage, like the loss of time and memory gaps.

* * *

His time was nearing. He had been lurking under the surface for too long. It was time he made himself known.

Christine…

She would be his salvation, his muse, and his lover, damn the consequences. She would be the music that filled his soul and brought life to the unheard strains of the notes he had been composing. He would finally triumph and she would get her angel.

"I'm coming for you, Christine. Just a little while longer, my Angel."


	2. Chapter 2

Christine was in the chapel praying, as she did every day. She prayed for strength and the will to go on. But most of all she prayed for the Angel of Music to finally come to her. Her father promised, but the specter had yet to appear.

_"Christine…"_

The girl looked up. Had she imagined it or…

_"Christine. I'm here. I have come to you at last."_

"Angel, is that you?" she whispered.

"Yes, I am here. But why are you?"

"I…" she didn't know how to respond. "I was praying for you."

"You should be practicing. All these years of wanting my help and you have not helped yourself. You are still in the chorus, still dancing. If I am to help you, guide you and train you, you must show me your dedication. Do you understand child?"

Christine looked dejected. She had never given up on her singing, but the Angel was right: she had not pushed herself. "I will do better. I promise. I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize," the voice continued. "I know the music is in you, and that is why I have come. It is your time to shine. If you truly wish for this life, be ready tomorrow morning. That is when your lessons will begin."

"I will be there, I promise."

Christine got up and fled the chapel. Once in the privacy of the dancer's dressing room she began to practice singing scales. She would not disappoint the Angel, not now.

* * *

He paced behind the glass, waiting for her. The dressing room would work, for now. The problem was that it was public and any of the dancers could come in at any time. He need Christine to have her own space and all of that would hinge on how good she was.

She hurried into the room right on time. He touched the glass as he watched her look around. She was so close he felt like he just reach out and touch her. Her hair was like a halo, golden curls encompassing her dancer's body. She was petite and perfect.

"Are… Are you here?" her question was uttered in hushed tones as if she felt silly talking to an empty room.

"I'm here, Christine," he replied.

Her face lit up and he felt his heart melt.

"Sing for me," he told her. "Sing your warm ups."

She complied but he stopped her.

"Breathe Christine. You are not controlling your breath."

"But…" she looked uncertain. "It's the corset, it's restricting."

"The costumes you will be wearing will do the same," he replied. "You must learn to work around it now."

"I will try," she affirmed.

"Christine, you may think me cruel, but I will not tolerate excuses," he said. "I want you to be the best, so I will hold you to the highest standards, do you understand?"

"Yes," she replied. "I want to please you. I want to prove that I am worthy of your time."

"You are a dutiful child," he replied. "Now please, go back to the scales."

* * *

"Monsieur, I take it your tour went well yesterday?" Andre said.

"Indeed," the Vicomte replied. "Thank you for allowing me to go off by myself. I feel I was able to see more that way. Besides, without the pomp of my status I was left alone."

The owners of the Opera Populaire were sitting in their office with their new Patron, the Viscount. He had generously donated his money to the Opera and the managers were ready to start their new season.

Raoul had wanted to see the theatre, inside and out, by himself. And now he was glad of it. He knew where the important places were and since he knew about running a business he was confident that this new partnership would work out.

One of the places he had not gone was the dormitories; that would have not been proper. But it also meant he had not seen Christine. It had been too long since he saw his old friend and he wondered if she would remember him.

* * *

"How was your day?" Philippe asked.

Raoul shrugged out of his coat and handed it to the butler. "My day was fine."

The Comte nodded. "No headaches?"

His brother hesitated. "Just a small one this morning."

"Raoul…"

"I am fine," he asserted. "I made it to my meeting on time, no worries."

"Of course it worries me," Philippe replied. "You have not gotten any better. If these headaches continue you may need to be confined to the house."

"You do that enough as it is," Raoul snapped back. "I am not a child."

"You lose track of time, brother. You have lost whole days…"

"So I lose myself in a book or a piece of music, where is the harm in that?"

"Raoul this is more serious than you believe. What would our parents think if they saw you now?"

"They would look down on me for being so infatuated with the arts," he said. "But what about you? How is your mistress, brother dear?"

Philippe refused to show emotion. It was true he was seeing a ballet dancer, La Sorelli, but this was different. Raoul had talked about nothing but Christine Daaé for the past few weeks. This girl had sparked something bad, and he feared what would happen when the two came face to face.


	3. Chapter 3

"Christine, you're so different," Meg Giry commented as she practiced her plié.

"Can you keep a secret?"

The younger girl nodded vigorously. "Of course I can."

"He finally come to me, Meg."

"Your childhood friend?" Meg questioned. "You've finally seen the Vicomte?"

Christine's face fell a little. "No. Raoul has not… He's probably forgotten all about me."

"Then who are you speaking of?" Meg face was full of youthful curiosity.

"The Angel of Music," Christine said. "My father promised he'd send me the Angel and he has come to teach me to sing."

"But Christine, don't be silly! Of course you can sing. Your voice is lovely."

Christine ducked her golden head. "One can always get better. And what is a good voice without passion behind it?"

"So this man…"

"He's an Angel."

"This Angel is giving you singing lessons?"

"Yes," Christine admitted. "He's a strict teacher, but I've already improved."

"Well who is he?" Meg pressed. ""When does he come and who pays him? Your patrons the Valerius'?"

"No one pays him," Christine replied slowly. "He's an Angel, what use would he have for money?"

A chill went through Meg. "Well what does he look like?"

"I… I don't know." She swallowed thickly. "I've only ever heard his voice. I don't think he has a corporal body."

"Christine you're scaring me!"

"I'm not telling ghost stories," the older girl affirmed. "He's not frightening to me. It's magic when he's with me and I just…" She hesitated, regretting her choice to talk about him. "I just wanted to tell someone."

* * *

He paced the catwalk; a figure cloaked in black with a hat pulled down over his dark hair. He was watching the rehearsals for the upcoming Gala. Sets were being moved and costumes fitted. Dancers practiced their leaps as the singers ran though arias.

His Christine was huddled off with others chorus members, one in a gaggle of women surround Monsieur Reyer's piano. He had sent a letter demanding that Christine be given a chance to shine and they were ignoring the request of a major donor, anonymous as he may be.

Well he'd show them. He hadn't been working with Christine for this long to have it all be for not. His knuckles went white as he squeezed the rail of the catwalk. He hated what he was about to do, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

* * *

"You want us to give Christine Daaé a featured spot in the Gala?" Monsieur Firmin was not convinced.

"It's just that I know how talented she is," Raoul told him. "She and I… We spent time together as children and I know this is her passion; to sing here."

"And what has Miss Daaé told you about her billing in the Gala?" Monsieur Andre asked.

"Well nothing," The Vicomte admitted. "I must seem like an awful friend, but I have yet to speak to her. My time has been spent making preparations with you for the gala performance and I would never disturb her while she was rehearsing."

"So you admit you have not seen her?" Firmin questioned.

"I just said as much, Monsieur. Do you think I speak lies?"

"It's just ironic, Monsieur," Andre said.

The Vicomte raised an eyebrow in query.

"It's just that…" Firmin searched for the right words. "You are not the first man to try to further Miss Daaé's career in the past month. There is an anonymous donor who asked us to do the same thing, to give a mere chorus girl a starring role in the Gala."

Raoul clenched his fist and forced himself not to speak his thoughts out loud. Christine was no mere girl. But who was this other person with an interest in her?

But before the conversation could go any further, the door to the office was thrown open unceremoniously and a stage hand rushed in. "I'm sorry to bother you, but there has been an accident."

"What kind of accident?" Andre demanded.

"Trouble with the flies, Monsieur," the boy replied. "A piece of scenery crashed and almost took out La Carlotta."

"My god," Firmin breathed.

* * *

The rehearsal was in chaos when the stage hand returned with the three other men.

"It was the Opera Ghost!" little Meg Giry was in hysterics.

"This is an outrage," roared Ubaldo Piangi. The principle tenor and Carlotta's lover looked like an angry bull. "Someone should be held accountable for this! Someone could have been killed!"

"Where's Joseph Buquet?" Andre demanded. He turned to Raoul. "Chief of the Flies, he's the one responsible."

"Not me, Monsieur." Buquet came hurrying over, wiping his balding head with a handkerchief. "I will say this, consequences be damned, I was not at my post."

"I cannot… WILL NOT work like this," Carlotta raged. "If this is what will happening under our new managers I will not be happening."

"You don't mean that, Signora," Firmin reasoned. "It was just an accident."

"I'm leaving," the diva said with conviction. She turned and stalked off.

"Amateurs." Piangi's snub was harsh as he turned to follow Carlotta.

"What do we do now?" Andre asked.

"We call in the understudy," Firmin said.

"There is no understudy for La Carlotta," Reyer explained.

"Christine Daaé could sing it," Meg said suddenly.

Raoul had been preoccupied, but he finally turned his attention to the blond girl kneeling on the floor by the piano.

"Meg, what are you doing?" she asked.

"Not this again," Andre grumbled.

The younger girl got up, determination on her face. "You should hear her before you dismiss her."

"Meg, that is enough," he mother chided.

"But Christine has been taking lessons from a great teacher," the little ballerina persisted.

"Who is your teacher?" Reyer questioned.

Christine was hesitant as she got to her feet. "I… I don't know his name…"

"Why are you all obsessed with ghosts?" Andre questioned.

Raoul squared his shoulders and stalked over to the piano, drawn there by some unknown force. "I'm sorry it took me so long to see you, Christine." He whispered in her ear as he touched her shoulder. "We will make up the lost time later, but now prove them wrong. What note does the aria start on?"

Christine was thrown by the sudden emergence of her childhood friend and for a moment she couldn't speak. Finally she whispered: "G."

Raoul's hand hovered over the keys and he tentatively struck one.

"That's an F," Christine replied gently.

A blush descended over the Vicomte's face as his finger found the correct key. The room was filled with banter, arguments and retorts. But everyone went silent when the first few soaring notes left Christine's mouth.

Her voice was serene and nothing like Carlotta's screeching. She didn't have to strain to reach the higher notes and her passion… If this was just impromptu what could she do in an actual performance setting?

Raoul's heart swelled with pride as he watched Christine shine. This was the boost she needed. Now she would take her place with the elite sopranos in the Opera House. Her dream was coming true before his eyes and in that moment he knew he loved her.

He was too lost in thought to notice the cruel growl that floated on the air. _"She's mine, not yours."_

Raoul jumped and placed a hand to his pounding heart. There was no one there, no male close enough to speak the threat. No, everyone was focused on Christine and the discovery of her angelic voice.


	4. Chapter 4

"Absolutely not," Madam Giry said. "Christine cannot be disturbed right now."

"Is the whole world against me?" Raoul questioned. "Why does it seem like everyone in the building is conspiring against me? I just want to see my friend for five minutes."

But the ballet mistress was adamant as she leaned against the dressing room door. Christine had been given her own room and there was talk that, after the gala, she might be promoted out of the chorus.

No one could deny the talent she had shown and earlier in the day, when she had sang again, everyone stopped to listen. After the rehearsal there had been a costume fitting, a meeting with the managers, and then lunch. After that she had locked herself in her room to sleep with Madam Giry as a guard.

"She needs to rest," the woman said. "I'm sorry Vicomte, but you must go."

"Damn it." Raoul stalked off down the hall and tried to ignore the twinges of pain that were needling his head. "Not now," he growled. "Not again."

* * *

"Christine…"

The girl rolled over on her chaise and smiled as the voice quietly echoed through the room. Its presence was comforting and she did not stir from her rest.

Here in her own room he had more privacy than when they worked in the studio. He touched the glass of her mirror, wishing it was her skin his finger was caressing. Soon, so very soon. Once she triumphed upon this stage he would take her to his domain and they would live happily, surrounded by the music.

At least Madam Giry had chased away that love sick fop. The less time Raoul de Chagny spent with Christine the better. She belonged to the music, and the music was Erik, and Erik was the Opera Ghost.

He turned and walked through the tunnel, heading down to the catacombs. He took care to avoid people. They would be too curious to let him pass unhindered. The mask he wore covered his face from forehead to nose, effectively hiding his features and concealing his identity. It was just better that way. No one would understand and the last thing he needed was to be outcast from the world of the theatre before his plans came to fruition.

There was underground lake beyond the catacombs and Erik untied his boat so he could cross. He had been lucky in finding a small house on the far shore. He had fixed it up and furnished it with items borrowed from the theatre. It was nothing fancy, just the necessities: a bedroom, small kitchen, and a music room. This was his escape, his secret place to work on his greatest creation, the opera _Don Juan Triumphant_.

It would be Christine's greatest triumph as well as long as he could teach her to give into the passion and free her mind of all the constructs of high society. The role was not one of a whore, but his sweet Christine so pure, so innocent, that her acting skills would be pushed to the limit.

But for the moment he pushed those thoughts away. His task was to make his humble abode ready for his angel.

It had plagued him, this decision. But in the end it was the right one. He loved Christine and love could not flourish if lies stood in the way. He had to show her that he was a man and pray that she would accept him.

His face would be the hardest part of this endeavor, he knew. But he'd find some way around that.

* * *

"Are you terribly nervous?" Meg asked.

The day of the gala had arrived and Christine was readying herself.

"Not until you made me aware of being nervous," Christine replied.

Meg took her friend's hand. "I'm sorry. But you have been wonderful in rehearsals. Your voice is amazing and… I've even seen Signor Piangi stop to watch you."

"He's still angry about Carlotta."

Meg shook her head. "I was watching, there was no disdain. Shock maybe, but no trace of anger."

"I usurped his lover's place," Christine reminded the ballerina.

"And why not?" a male voice filled the room. "She did not deserve the spotlight. Her time is over and yours is just beginning."

Christine rose to her feet and raised her eyes to the ceiling. "Angel…"

Meg shrieked in terror and ran for the door.

"Don't go, little Giry," the voice commanded, though the tone was gentle. "I only want to calm Christine before this performance. And I wanted you to see that I am not a figment of the imagination. Do you believe now?"

"Yes," the younger girl whispered. "I believe."

* * *

"I would think the managers would put a stop to this sort of thing," Philippe said. "Rumors do no good."

"There are always stories about a haunting," Raoul said. "In old mansions, condemned buildings, and especially in theatres. It's part of the allure."

"Too much drama is a bad thing." The Comte crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "All I've heard since I entered the doors is gossip about an Opera Ghost."

"Why can't you just relax for once," Raoul asked. "Stop thinking so much and enjoy the charm of the theatre."

"It doesn't bother you? These rumors?"

"Why should it?"

Philippe studied his brother and saw no comprehension on his face. "Damn it all. Nothing good will come from this."

Raoul waved him away. "They are about to start."

"You are seeing her tonight?"

The Vicomte smiled. "Nothing will stop me, least of all a ghost."


	5. Chapter 5

Christine was in Heaven. The stage was where she belonged and when she closed her eyes and sang the notes of the aria…

She wondered if her teacher was watching, if he was proud of her. He had made her a star and now they were applauding her. They loved her performance and she fell into a grateful curtsy. Rising, she dared lift her eyes to the managers' box.

Monsieur Firmin gave her a nod of acknowledgement and Monsieur Andre clapped louder. But it was the harsh look on the Comte de Changy's face that made her feel out of sorts. She studiously avoided looking at Raoul. Turning, she left the stage so that it could be set for the next performers.

She felt giddy as she walked through the halls, heading for dressing room. "Were you there, Angel," she asked the empty air. "Did you hear?"

"I always hear, Christine."

She turned, but there was no one in the hall. "Angel?"

"Christine!" Raoul rounded the corner, arms laden with roses. "You were wonderful. Your father would have been so proud. May I… Might I escort you to your dressing room?"

"Did you hear anything Raoul?" she asked hesitantly. "Before you called me another man said my name."

"I didn't see anyone," he told her. His smile never faded. "There are many people about who would be talking of your triumph."

"I'm sure you're right," she replied, forcing a smile. "Come with me to my room."

The Vicomte eagerly indulged her, though he wondered why she seemed so stiff and nervous. Once behind the closed door, however, she relaxed and threw herself into Raoul's arms. He dropped the flowers on a table and embraced his childhood friend.

"I couldn't… Not out there," she said as she looked up at him. "It wouldn't have been proper if someone had seen us."

Raoul's grip tightened as he inhaled her perfume. He had to steel himself and not tangle his fingers in her blonde curls. She was a grown woman now, beautiful and talented, and he felt like a giddy school boy.

"I don't care who sees us," he said. "I've missed you so much Christine. Let them say what they will, I would walk through their ranks holding your hand."

She pulled away. "Then why wait til now to see me? How long have you been at the Opera House Raoul? Why only speak to me once and avoid me like we have no history?"

"It's not because I didn't want to see you," he told her her. "Truly, it was maddening that every time I made up my mind to find you someone got in the way. The managers, Madam Giry, my brother… "

"Why does he look at me with such disdain?"

"Who Philippe?" When she didn't answer Raoul sighed. "My brother is a hypocrite. He cats around with La Sorelli and then says I have no right to see you. As long as he has secret trysts with his ballerina I can have dinner with my dear friend. How soon can you change?"

"Dinner tonight?" Christine couldn't keep the shock from her eyes.

"Of course tonight," he replied.

Christine suddenly pulled inward as she glanced around her room. "I have other plans."

"What plans? The after party here? Come to dinner with me, they will still be celebrating when I bring you back."

"But I will be expected to attend."

"And you will, just later. Everyone will want to take you from me and share in your triumph. So tell me true Christine, who is this teacher of yours?"

She was hesitant. "You remember the Angel of Music that my father used to talk about?"

"Of course."

"Well he has come to teach me, Raoul. It is because of him that was able to sing so well today."

Raoul looked skeptical. "You've truly seen an angel?"

"Well no… I haven't. I've only heard his voice and felt his presence. He has yet to manifest fully to me."

"Christine, what you are saying sounds like a dream or a fantasy in your own head. I think you have progressed on your own and you are afraid to admit that. There are stories going around about an Opera Ghost so you have using them to cover your own achievements. Why not let the world know that you have worked so hard for your craft?"

"You don't understand." She sank into to her chair. "How can I make you believe?"

"I believe in you," he told her earnestly. "And now we must go to dinner. We can catch up in peace and maybe then you'll let me in on your secrets." He smiled and turned. "Two minutes, Little Lotte."

"Raoul wait!"

The only response was sound of the door clicking shut.

"Things have changed Raoul."

Shaking her head, she moved behind her screen to change. Why couldn't he understand what she was telling him? It hurt her to think that after all of this time Raoul was failing her. But then again, neither of them were the same as been during their childhoods.

Dressed in her corset and underskirt and a robe over it, Christine sat at her vanity and began to brush out her hair. She'd need a good excuse for missing the party if Raoul insisted on taking her away tonight.

* * *

"Christine…"

The girl turned towards her mirror. "Who… Angel, is that you?"

"Come with me Christine. Leave this place and come into my world. Leave him behind and be mine."

"Where are you?" she asked.

"Step through your mirror and follow the music."

Christine looked over her shoulder and then got to her feet. She should go to the party, but at the same time she didn't want to leave Raoul wondering where she had gone. He'd search the party and find her…

"Christine." The dark voice was forceful and left no room for thought.

She walked towards the mirror. Her reflection was non existent. What lay beyond the frame was a dark tunnel. And then the sound of a violin filled the space. Christine took a breath and stepped into the void.

Using her hands she felt along the wall and as she ventured deeper into the unknown. The music played on, guiding her and showing her when to turn. The more she focused on the song the less frightened and hesitant she became.

Suddenly the music stopped and a light flared to life. A gloved hand reached out and caught Christine's and she gave a little cry.

"Fear not, Christine. I am here."

"Angel?" she breathed.

"Yes," he replied. "You did very well tonight and as a reward I have decided to share my world with you. You have earned a look at me."

Christine pursed her lips. All she could see was the outline of a body, a black cape and hat. As if he were reading her mind, he glanced over his shoulder. "Soon. You will see me soon. But I warn you, you may be surprised."

"I will be honored to look upon you, Angel," she replied.

Christine knew they were walking through the theatre, but the passage was unfamiliar to her. They emerged on the shores of a lake, and Christine gasped.

"I had rumors, but I had never seen this."

"We are far below the Opera," he explained. He climbed into the waiting boat and set down his violin and the lantern. He held out his hand again. "My home is not much, but I would be honored to share it with you."

Christine accepted the aid and stepped into the boat. She could see a bit more of the Angel now: he had dark hair and dark eyes, or maybe it was just a trick of the light. The candle enclosed in glass was throwing shadows, so nothing was for certain.

There was a small house across the lake. It was bright enough inside when the Angel opened the door. The main room held a couch, chair, and a piano. How the instrument had been brought down, Christine didn't know. She watched as he put the violin away and set the case down next to several other cases that surely held classical instruments.

When he turned Christine could finally see him. He wore a black suit and removed his hat. He held it awkwardly in front of him as Christine's eyes focused in on his mask.

"Angel…"

"Erik," he said. "My name is Erik. It would please me if we could address each other as… friends."

"Why do you wear the mask Ang… Erik?"

"Sit." He waited for her to move to the couch before moving to the fireplace and building up the kindling. "Everyone wears masks, Christine," he finally said. "Some are more noticeable than others. Meg wears one. It has a smile frozen on it so that no one notices how much she wants to be in the spot light. Madam Giry wears one of a constant woman. She may seem happy or angry, but rarely does our ballet Mistress lash out with full emotions."

"I guess you're right," Christine replied.

He stood and moved to the chair. "You as an actress must learn to switch masks in an effortless fashion. You must remove your mask of innocence because you are smarter than you let on. You stay hidden in your fantasies and dreams and one day they will shatter around you." He held up a hand. "Do not interrupt me yet. I don't say this to hurt you. In fact this is to make you stronger. If you allow yourself to come to terms with the real world you can handle any situation."

"But…" Christine tried to form the correct words. "My world is the theatre, it is all play acting and how can I give up on my dreams when I am here with you now?"

"Never give up on your dreams, Christine. They are not fantasies. Dreams can come true, and yours will soon be realized."

He sent her off, not long after that, to take a bath. He hoped the comforts he offered would dissuade her from further questioning his mask. Somehow they would have to come to terms with its presence.

While she was shut away he made soup and some strong tea. It would help her sleep through the night. He had no intention of keeping here long, just for the night. He needed her to go back to the world of the light. Her presence in the Opera House would be expected and besides, if he kept her locked away her talents would never be appreciated.

He knew that once she surrendered to his music she'd belong to him and it wouldn't matter how many admirers she had in the world above: he would be her only love.

* * *

Christine emerged from the bedroom in a nightgown and her robe. She didn't question why he had female clothing so he didn't have to explain the embarrassment of collecting it from the well to do shops.

She moved gracefully, even though she wasn't trying; it was the actress in her, the dancer. She found the sheet music on the piano and began to hum a few bars.

"I don't recognize this," she said.

"As well you shouldn't," he replied. "It is something I am working on; an opera actually. But it's far from complete."

"May I… Can I sing some of it?"

Erik moved towards the piano, trying to curb his enthusiasm. This is what he wanted: Christine singing his music, giving voice to his characters. It was she who was the real angel and he the blessed one to finally be in her presence.


	6. Chapter 6

"What are we to do?" Monsieur Andre threw his hands in the air. "The gala was a success but we have no leading ladies."

"So Miss Daaé is still missing?" Philippe questioned.

Monsieur Firmin nodded. "Yes, and I don't like it. She wasn't at the party at all. Where is your brother? Wasn't he talking about taking her out last night?"

The Comte scratched his head. "My brother has been gone all night as well. He's very worried about her. Perhaps she was overwhelmed by everything and went to stay with a friend?"

"But she knew how important this was," Firmin pushed. "I don't think she would have left on her own accord without telling someone."

"But I don't want to think that something bad…" Andre began.

The door was thrown open and Raoul came into the office followed by Madam Giry.

"Where is Christine?" the Vicomte demanded.

"You had no luck either, I take it," Philippe replied. "Raoul, she is nowhere to be found."

"Well what is being done? This is madness. I woke up with a letter waiting for me and do you know what it said?" When no one answered Raoul pulled out the folded sheet. "It says I am to give up on my friendship with Christine. The Opera Ghost says Christine is his and I am not to peruse her. Who is the specter?"

"We don't know, but he is most concerned with furthering Miss Daaé's career," Andre said. "There are always superstitions about phantoms, but this madness began in earnest when we took over the Opera Populaire."

"Maybe someone wants to make sure the Opera is run properly," Madam Giry suggested.

"And what would you know about it?" Firmin snapped.

I have your post," the Ballet Mistress replied. "Two letters sealed with the skull. They are from the Opera Ghost."

"You're all obsessed," Philippe said.

Andre took his letter. "It says the gala was a success, aside from the bad dancing and that Christine Daaé was the star, as she should be. This goes on to say that Christine should be given all the leads and that we should listen to what he says or else. Or else, can you believe this?"

Firmin ripped open his envelope. "This one says that Christine will return to the stage in _Il Muto _and that she will play the lead. Why he's demanding that Carlota, our Prima Donna, be given the silent role of the page boy! Unbelievable! And what's more he's demanding we pay him a salary!"

"Do you want a cursed Opera, monsieur?" Madam Giry asked.

Firmin eyes her suspiciously. "You seem to be on his side, maybe you are his accomplice."

"I take offense at that, Monsieur," she retorted. "I am looking out for the interests of the theatre."

Before anyone could reply the office door was pushed open again and Carlotta stalked in followed by Piangi. "Who is responsible for this?" she demanded, throwing a letter down on the desk. "This harassment will not be tolerated."

"I think it was the Patron who sent it." Piangi offered.

"I sent nothing," Raoul protested. He took the letter and scanned the contents. "This demands that Carlotta step back and allow her better to take the stage. 'If Christine does not sing a great disaster will befall the theatre and it will be all your fault.' "

"The only reason we gave the girl a chance was because you left," Firmin said. "We are not about to give into demands, but if you will not sing what choice do we have?"

Carlotta squared her shoulders. "My public demands my return to the stage and I will not disappoint them. Let the Vicomte make idle threats on behalf of his lover."

"I sent nothing," Raoul insisted. "And Christine is still missing, need I remind you."

"She is probably sleeping off too much wine in your bed," Piangi sneered.

Philippe took a step forward. "I would advise you stop your slander immediately, Signor."

"I said, Christine is back," a shrill voice cut in.

Meg had entered the office and had been trying to get someone's attention, but they were all too busy arguing. She had to yell over everyone but now it was she who held court.

"Truly?" Raoul asked.

"Is she alright?" Madam Giry asked.

Meg nodded. "She was just there in her dressing room. She's well rested and wants to apologize."

"Well where was she?" Andre demanded.

"Out with her teacher," Meg whispered. "She didn't mean to gone all night."

"Her teacher," Philippe grumbled.

"The Angel of Music," Meg affirmed. "I have to say that her stories about her Angel are much more enjoyable than listening to Joseph Buquet talk about deformed Phantoms."

Madam Giry nodded in acknowledgement. She had had enough of the stage hand scaring the ballerinas with stories about a masked figure with no nose.

"Why is Christine Daaé the center of attention?" Carlotta demanded. "I am the Prima Donna, the spotlight is mine, and I want it back."

"And you shall have it," Firmin said. "You will sing the role of the Countess, not Miss Daaé."

"She should be demoted back to the chorus," Piangi said.

"But she is too good for such a trivial place," Raoul interjected.

"And what of the Ghost?" Meg asked.

"I've had enough of ghosts and angels and Christine Daaé!" Carlotta shrieked.

"By Jove I've got it," Firmin said as he slapped the desk. "What if this teacher of hers is the Phantom?"

"But how can that be?" Meg asked.

"She admitted to never seeing his face," Andre agreed. "But I think that is safe bet. Now the only question is: is she a willing participant in his plans?"

"I would certainly say not," Raoul exclaimed. "Christine would never agree to further herself with threats. She would want to earn her place with hard work."

"If anyone in this room says another word about that contemptible little shrew I swear I will not go on!" Carlotta asserted. Her narrowed eyes searched the assembled group. "Good. Now if you all excuse me I must fine Monsieur Reyer."

* * *

The stage was set and la Carlotta was ready to go on. Christine paced nervously backstage, wishing that someone was there to give her comfort. Even though her teacher said she'd go on, there was no indication that Carlotta would forfeit the role. Not that she wanted anything bad to happen to the diva, but he had promised her the part; they had rehearsed it before he took her through the catacombs to her dressing room.

The stage hands scurried about, making sure everything was in place and La Carlotta brushed by the younger girl, knocking her into a set piece. Christine pushed back her frustration and righted herself. Anger was not her way.

She made her entrance and acted her best, playing the hidden lover to the countess when the strangest thing happen: Carlotta began to choke and cough. She tried to clear her throat but her voice remained a hoarse noise.

Suddenly, the auditorium was filled with maniacal laughter. The mangers were in their box, along with Comte Philippe and they were all on their feet. Christine had a fleeting thought – Raoul wasn't with them. She could use his strength to get through this shamble of a performance. No, he was in the lobby of the theatre, close enough if he was needed, but standing in staunch protest of Christine's ill treatment.

The wild laughter continued as the lights flicked on the chandelier. "She will bring it down," the ghostly voice said. "If she continues to sing even the very chandelier will protest."

Carlotta fled the stage as conversations started up in the audience. No one knew what to do, Reyer was in disarray and even the actors on stage were at a loss.

Thankfully Firmin rushed onto the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, please bear with us as we handle this unfortunate situation. The role of the Countess will be performed – for the remainder of the show – by Miss Christine Daaé." He glanced over at her. "Go!"

Christine ran off stage as the costume Mistress went to find her a dress.

"In the meantime," Firmin continued, "we will indulge you with… a ballet. Yes, the third act ballet…"

"Are you mad?" Reyer retorted from the pit.

Firmin stood his ground. "The ballet will come forward, now."

* * *

Those simple minded fools had been warned, he surmised as he stalked the catwalk. Christine in Carlotta's place and none of this foolishness would have happened. Well, now the diva couldn't sing but his anger was not sated.

They needed to see that he meant business. His threats were not idle ones and he was one who managed the theatre. He pulled out a blade and began to weaken the support ropes that held the chandelier.

"I'll give you a disaster," he muttered. "I'll show you all."

"Hey, what are you doing?" someone called.

The phantom whirled around, glad for the mask. "Go away Buquet, this doesn't concern you."

"The hell it doesn't."

He still held his dagger, so he waved in menacingly. "Go away, I will not warn you again."

He advanced, forcing Buquet to back up on the catwalk. But this backfired. As soon as he had enough space, the stage hand tackled the cloaked figure. The two fought for the upper hand and Buquet grabbed the hood.

"Let's see who you are under there, shall we?" The hood was cast aside and the mask wrenched free. Buquet gasped in shock. "You… You… What is this madness?"

"Something you will never come to understand," the Phantom sneered. Then he punched the stagehand.

Thinking quickly, he untied a sandbag and made a noose with the rope. Buquet's death would ensure his secrets were his own. He tossed the hanged body over the rail, delighting in the screams that arose from the performers and audience alike. Slipping his veneer back into place, he fled the scene.

* * *

"Raoul!" Christine pushed her way through the crowd on stage. "Raoul where are you?"

"Ladies and gentleman, it was an accident," Andre was saying, although his words were less than placating. "Please remain calm and stay in your seats. Accidents happen."

"Christine!"

Raoul was there at the foot of the stage and she ran towards him. He lifted her down and handed her a cloak to put over her dress.

"You look like you could use some air, let's go to the roof."

Frightened and shaking, Christine allowed him to lead her to the exit and the tunnel that lead to the roofs' stairs.

Once under the light of the moon Christine broke down, collapsing in Raoul's arms. "You were right," she sobbed. "I didn't want to believe it, but he is the Phantom."

"Raoul pulled out a handkerchief. "Buquet must have found him up there. My god… Christine, you must promise me you'll stay away from him."

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she told him. "He was an Angel, not a killer. He was so kind to me…"

"Were you with him then?" the Vicomte asked. "The night of the gala?"

Christine was hesitant. "He took me to his house. He played his Opera for me and gave me food and drink. And despite my protest he gave up his room so I could sleep in a bed. He was on the couch when I woke up."

"And you never once got a look at his face?"

"No," Christine replied. "I almost did, when he was sleeping. I wanted to know, curiosity has always been a flaw of mine. I reached for his mask, but he wasn't asleep, and he caught my wrist. He said no mortal could look upon an angel and that he was saving me."

"He is no angel Christine," Raoul insisted. "He was hiding his true identity or his deformed features. This does not sit well with me, that some deranged man took you to his home for the night. Do you know where you were?"

Christine fought an internal battle, knowing that she should tell Raoul where she was. But a part of her couldn't betray her Angel.

"Please Raoul, can we not talk about this?" she suddenly begged. "I… I'm scared and I need you to hold me, to protect me."

Her words softened the Vicomte's resolve and he pulled Christine further into his embrace. "Let me take you away," he said. "We'll go away on holiday and get away from Phantoms and Opera Houses and jealous divas. Christine let me show you how life with me could be."

"And Philippe?"

"Never mind him." Raoul's conviction was strong. "Say yes."

Christine stared into Raoul's face, so loving and caring. "Do you… Do you love me Raoul?"

"Always, Christine. I have always loved you."

"Then take me away from here so I can sort out my thoughts and see clearly again."

Raoul leaned in and kissed Christine passionately on the mouth. They stayed locked that way for a long moment before stepping out of the hold. Christine laughed and Raoul pushed the hair out of her face.

"I should get back," Christine said.

"I'll get the carriage and be waiting for you by the door," Raoul promised.

After stealing one more quick kiss the two hurried back inside. They were holding hands and giggling like children as they descended the stairs. But the mood was broken by the sound of a horrendous crash. The shattering of glass would have had the two lovers running toward the sound, but Philippe was coming up to meet them.

"What happened?" Raoul asked.

"The chandelier," his brother said. "The ropes broke and it… It shattered."

"But the audience?" Christine looked frantic.

"Many are hurt," the Comte confirmed. "And some may be dead. This is a disaster. I don't know if they will be able to… Raoul? Raoul what's wrong?"

The Vicomte had collapsed on the stairs and was holding his head. "It hurts," he moaned. "Philippe, it hurts so bad."

"What's wrong with him?" Christine asked. "Raoul please…"

The Vicomte turned his face to her and whispered: "Chris…" But before he could even finished the syllables of her name he fainted dead away.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been hard for all of them, but they managed to pull through. Christine spent most of her time in the de Changy mansion tending to Raoul. He finally admitted the severity of his condition and Christine, much to Philippe's disdain, had vowed to do what she could to nurse him back to health.

The Comte couldn't prove it, but he knew Christine's presence was only making Raoul's condition worse. He rarely allowed the two of them to be alone and banned Christine from the house when Raoul's condition was at its worst.

But that only seemed to backfire, as the two were more determined than ever to be together. Raoul had even proposed. Philippe had railed against that but Raoul was determined. He didn't care if she was an Opera singer, just that she loved him despite his flaws.

There was a wedge between Christine and the Comte that seemed glaringly obvious as the three of them rode in the carriage towards the Opera House. It was the night of the Masque, the New Year's celebration that was very special this year.

It also marked six months with no threats from the Opera Ghost. After killing Buquet and dropping the chandelier it seemed he had retreated into obscurity. As it turned out Christine had lost her enigmatic teacher as well, further cementing that the Angel of Music was the Phantom.

But that was behind them, at least for the night. They would play their roles, enjoy the party, and speak nothing of the troubles they were having. Much to Raoul's dismay, Christine had opted to keep their engagement secret, preferring to wear Raoul's ring around her neck.

Everything was going well until one of the other party goers cut in, asking Christine for a dance. As was proper Raoul bowed out and left his fiancée in the capable hands of the other man. He went to find a drink and the managers.

But two dances later he had not returned and Christine was getting worried so she went to find Philippe.

"I haven't seen him," the Comte told her.

"He should have been back by now." She lowered her voice. "Do you think… Could he had had another…"

A loud commotion on the grand staircase halted their conversation. People were moving out of the way like the red sea as a man dressed in red descended, unhindered, into their midst. His face was covered by a skull mask.

"It's the Phantom," Meg squeaked.

"But he was gone," Monsieur Andre said.

"Correction," the masked man remarked, "I choose to stay away until I finished my opera. Now that it is done you will all perform it." He threw the score at Firmin's feet. " It is my triumph and will be Christine's as well. I have written everything as it should be, and no one will overstep their place." He narrowed his eyes at Carlotta.

Christine backed up a step, not wanting to be any part of this. And for once she was comforted by Philippe's hand on her shoulder.

"Leave us be," the Comte commanded. "Your presence is not wanted here."

"I have told you before: stay out of this. Christine's welfare is in my hands. Come to you Angel, my child."

Unable to resist, Christine wrenched free of the Comte's grasp and walked towards Red Death. He drew her near, holding her almost reverently.

"You are mine and will be forever." He grabbed the ring from around her neck and broke the clasp with one yank. "Your chains are still mine. Do as I say or else suffer a worse catastrophe than a shattered chandelier."

He pushed Christine away and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

Later, they found Raoul unconscious in Christine's dressing room.

* * *

"This is madness," Andre fumed. "This needs to be stopped."

Everyone of importance had come to discuss the new score – _Don Juan Triumphant_ – in the managers' office.

"I agree wholeheartedly," Raoul said. "This bad press reflects back on all of us."

"We need more force," Firmin told them. "I think we are all agreed on that."

"You would hunt him down?" Christine asked.

"He is a murderer," Piangi replied.

"She defends his actions," Carlotta said. "She must be a willing partner."

"She is not, I can assure you that," Philippe replied.

"You would defend your brother's whore," the diva spat.

Raoul was on his feet. "Listen here woman…"

"Enough," Firmin roared. "We will get nowhere if we continue to fight amongst ourselves. The questions before us are what do we do about the Phantom and his opera?"

"Burn the garbage," Carlotta suggested.

Piangi held up a hand. "Maybe we should perform it."

"And give into his demands?" Raoul questioned.

"I see what he is saying," Andre spoke up. "If we perform it he will come, especially to see Christine…"

"I will not be part of this," Carlotta hissed. "I will not lower myself to a tiny part and give _her _the lead."

"Shut up you cow," Raoul barked. "I swear, if you slander Christine one more time…"

"If Christine doesn't sing you may lose more than your voice," Philippe said pointedly. "Are you willing to risk that?"

"Besides, using Christine as bait will be perfect," Piangi said. "We know the monster will come."

"I thought you were on my side," Carlotta fumed at her lover.

"We can be ready with men at arms," Andre added.

Firmin rubbed his hands together. "We can have it all planned out, he'll not escape."

"I can't do this," Christine said. "To be demeaned so… Is that all I am to you? Bait?"

"Christine, this man has killed Buquet," Raoul said. "He has to be stopped."

"I agree," Philippe said. "But with more violence?"

"This plan hinges on you, Miss Daaé," Andre implored. "You must help us."

"And what of her career?" Carlotta asked. "After this will she be put back in the chorus where she belongs?"

"Even we must agree that she is too good for that," Firmin said. "But that is neither here nor there."

"I need to think," Christine said. "This is still so overwhelming."

"You don't have time to think," Andre said. "We need an answer, now."

"You don't understand what this is doing to me," Christine retorted.

"I understand," Philippe said suddenly. "I see where you are coming from, better than you perhaps."

"One performance can end all of this," Raoul said.

Christine turned a teary face to the Vicomte. "Do you love me, Raoul?"

"With everything I have," he vowed.

"Then take me away from here, just for a few days and then I'll give everyone my answer."

"Where do you want to go?" Raoul asked gently.

"To Perros. To my father's grave."

* * *

Christine felt like a child confided to her room after a transgression. Both of the de Chagny brothers had insisted on accompanying her on her trip. They watched her like hawks, never allowing her to be alone for any long period of time.

At least they allowed her the necessary privacy of bathing and dressing alone.

She knelt at her father's grave and laid down the flowers she had purchased. She offered up silent prayers to the dead and allowed the tears to fall. Her consolation was that she could mourn in private. Raoul was in the carriage, guarding the cemetery gate and Philippe had remained back at the inn.

"Where did it all go wrong?" Christine asked. "What am I to do? I just wanted to make you happy and now my own happiness lies shattered like… like the shards of a chandelier."

"You're not alone…" came the voice on the wind.

Christine got to her feet. "Who's there? Angel or father, friend or phantom?"

"Your angel, always your angel."

"Why have you betrayed me?"

"All I have done is for you," he continued. "Everything will be laid out your feet. They will not stop me, be assured of that."

"How do you…"

"Know of their plans? I am the Opera Ghost, I know all. Just remember that I love you."

"Angel?" When she got no response she called again: "Angel?"

"Christine…" Raoul voice.

She turned to see him stumbling towards her, hands clenched tightly against his head. It was obvious that he was experiencing another headache.

"What can I do?" Christine asked, pushing her own troubles aside.

The Vicomte collapsed at her side. "I don't know… The pain has never been this bad."

_Leave her be and the pain will stop. Let her go and relinquish your claim to her and I will not trouble you any longer._

"Did you hear that?" Raoul gasped. "He's here, I just heard him."

Christine swallowed thickly. "He was here, just before you came."

"No, just now. He just delivered an ultimatum."

"Raoul, I heard nothing," Christine replied.

_Give up, Vicomte. Give up and let me take over permanently. Stop your unconscious fighting, this ends now. Here on her father's grave she will give herself to the Angel and the man will be no more._

"Can you not hear him?" Raoul questioned.

"I only hear you."

Raoul moaned and curled into Christine's lap. "He's laughing at me, dark sinister laughing that is driving me mad! Make it stop, Christine! For god sake help me."

The sound of a horse galloping closer drew Christine's attention. She looked up to see Philippe riding towards them.

"Philippe! How did you know…?"

The Comte dismounted and came over. "Did you think I wouldn't follow? I know what plagues my brother so I'm never too far away."

"I don't understand."

"It's never been this bad," Philippe explained. "It's gotten worse since you came back into his life."

"Don't make her leave me, Philippe," Raoul begged. "She is my only anchor to sanity."

"She is your destruction." The Comte's eyes were hard. "The fact that she has had no knowledge of her actions is moot. We must make you better."

"Why is this voice in my mind?" Raoul demanded. "What have you been keeping from me?"

"The phantom has always been there," Philippe conceded. "He rises to the surface when your headaches are too much. I think he causes them. He raises you up and pushes you down so that he can compose music and run the opera house as he wishes."

"And you never told me?" Raoul was awestruck.

"We both deserved to know," Christine's words were harsh. "I am not some child who needs protecting. All this time…"

"I wrote that opera," Raoul whispered. "I've been fighting the ghosts in my own head. God, what are we to do about the managers' plan?"

"I'll think of something," Philippe said.

"We will think of something," Christine affirmed.

Philippe looked up, fire in his eyes. "You will leave my brother alone. This wouldn't have happened if you would have left him alone like I told you to."

"Leave her alone," Raoul said. Another spasm of pain racked through him and he clutched Christine like a drowning man.

"We need to get him home," Philippe said. "Home to Paris and to a doctor."

"I want nothing to do with you!" Raoul glowered at his brother. "How can I trust you when all you've done is lied to us?"

"You owe me your life," the Comte said. "I kept the rumors going. Thanks to me the deaths _you _caused have fallen onto the shoulders of a ghost."

Raoul went pale. "Deaths?"

The Comte nodded gravely. "I can only guess that Buquet saw your face and you had to silence him. And the chandelier…"

"All those people. .." The realization was too much. Raoul's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed out.

"I'll get him the best help, I promise," Philippe said. "But you will stay away from him and allow him to recover in peace."

Christine slapped him across the face. "How dare you? You're mad if you think I'll leave him now. We will fix this together. Now help me."

Philippe rubbed his cheek. "Mademoiselle, be grateful my thoughts are with my brother or else I'd thank you in kind for this mark."


	8. Chapter 8

He dreamed of locked away memories, nightmares that were real. He saw himself smoothing the dark wig over his blond hair and securing the opera cape. He wrote notes with his non dominant hand and threw his voice so it bounced off the theatre walls.

He dreamed of cutting the chandelier's ropes and subsequently strangling Buquet. Then he sat at the piano composing music for Christine for hours while Philippe kept her locked away and sent her out of the house. But the time he took her through the mirror and hid her away at the house beyond the lake was the most telling. They had spent an innocent night together eating a meal and singing. It was perfect.

And the furthest thing from the harsh reality. In their world a Vicomte would never be able to marry an opera singer. So Raoul had created a new facet of himself that could give Christine everything she wanted and deserved.

But Erik was the stronger of the two warring personalities, he knew of Raoul whereas Raoul only had blank frames of time. In time Erik hoped that he could dispel Raoul permanently and run away with Christine.

The Vicomte bolted upright in bed, sweating. Throwing the covers back he got out of bed and went for the door. It was locked. Raoul scrubbed his face with his hands. Turning, he rushed to his closet. He pushed everything aside, tearing through the clothing with a fierceness that was freeing. Under a pile of fallen shirts he found a box.

He dumped the contents on the bed and found his answer. The black cape. A full face mask and black wig. Pages of sheet music he knew were his own works. There were plans for the opera house that marked the way through the hidden tunnels and the catacombs. And the receipts for the furnishings for the house beyond the lake.

_You know it can either be you or I. Both cannot coexist._

Raoul turned to look at his reflection in the mirror. He had bags under his eyes and he felt the hunger pangs. He looked gaunt and pale.

"I'm a wraith," he muttered.

_A phantom._

"Shut up."

_You're a monster. A murderer. Your family's wealth will not save you. You must flee, become someone else and leave the country. _

"I won't give in!"

_I can be who you're not. I am everything society will not accept from you. Let me live._

"I'll kill myself first." He slammed his fist into the mirror. Shards of glass fell to the floor and he grabbed one.

There were footsteps in the hallway, someone was running toward his room. The sound of a key clicking in the lock preceded the butler's entrance.

"Sir…"

"Where is my brother?" Raoul demanded. "Where is Christine?"

"The Comte is not here," the servant replied slowly. "Will you… Will you please get back into bed? I'll have someone clean up this mess and have some food brought for you."

"My brother."

The butler sighed. "Comte Philippe is at the Opera House, sir. They have rehearsal."

"Rehearsal for what?"

"Some new play," the man said slowly. "You need to rest. You've been very ill."

"How much time have I lost?" Raoul demanded. "I am in my own home in Paris. What day is it?"

The servant stared at the wall. "You have been unconscious for a week."

"A week?"

The butler nodded. "Neither you or… the other has stirred."

"A week?"

"Please sir, get back in bed. You're bleeding, please let me help you."

Raoul looked down at his hand. He still held the piece of glass and blood was dripping onto the floor. He went to the bed and ripped off a piece of the sheet to knot around the gash.

"Go do what you must, I will be here waiting."

The servant hurried from the room and Raoul slammed the door behind him. He grabbed his coin purse and dumped it out. Picking up a shard of glass, he put that into the empty pouch and attached it to a belt.

He moved quickly, donning a clean shirt and pants before tugging on his boots. He didn't trust the servants, so he went out the window and climbed down the trellis. Evening was just falling, and he snuck around the house heading towards the stables.

His horse was there and needing no prodding to come to her master. Raoul mounted bareback and rode off towards the Opera House.

"They want a monster, do they?" he growled. "Well I will give them what they want."

* * *

Philippe watched the rehearsal from the audience. He and Christine had to act as if _Don Juan Triumphant_ was still a trap for the Phantom. They would keep Raoul safely locked away and safe from the armed police who would be at theatre on opening night.

Christine sang exquisitely because Raoul knew her voice perfectly, Philippe had to begrudgingly admit. She moved through the motions expected of her and said nothing of Raoul's condition to anyone. Perhaps he should have trusted her after all.

A shocked gasp from the stage drew Philippe's attention. He turned to see Raoul – awake and on his own feet – stumbling down the aisle.

Christine rushed off of the stage. "Raoul, what are you doing here?"

"Christine… I've come. The Phantom's here. I've come to warn you. You must stay away from me."

"What's wrong with him?" Piangi questioned.

Philippe rushed to his brother's side. "He's been sick with a fever. My god Raoul, how did you get here?"

"I rode," the Vicomte explained. "I had to get to Christine before he got to her. I have to stop him, he'll stop at nothing."

"Christine, take him to your dressing room," Philippe ordered. "I'll follow. Please go."

Christine wrapped her arm around Raoul's waist and led him off. He sagged against her and reveled in her warmth.

"It's alright," she whispered. "I'm here. We will get through this. I love you, Raoul."

"Erik."

"What?"

"My name is Erik," he said as he smiled. He grabbed Christin's wrist. "You're not the only actress. Your Vicomte has bowed out to me. You and I will make a new start, my nightingale. We'll go far away and no one will ever find us."

"No," Christine gasped. "Let me go! Philippe! Help me…"

"Call for Raoul's brother all you want, he will not stop me." Erik forced her into her dressing room and pushed her against the mirror. Reaching behind it, he pushed something that allowed the glass to slide away. "You are coming with me."

* * *

Philippe didn't know what to tell everyone, other than to carry on with rehearsal and that Christine would be back as soon as possible. Not caring what they thought, the Comte turned and hurried after the others.

When he heard Christine scream for help he broke into a run. He pushed past the dressing room door and saw the mirror askew. Giving no thought to anything else he ran through the opening and headlong into the tunnel.

Using Christine's pleas for help as his guide, Philippe caught up to Christine and his brother on the edge of the lake. Raoul was forcing the struggling girl into the boat.

"Raoul let her go," he called.

His brother turned, a dark look on his face. "I am not your brother. You are looking at Erik. He is the one in control now. I am the one who loves Christine. I am the only one that cares about her needs and wants."

"That's not true," Philippe said. "All I've ever tried to do was protect her and Raoul."

"You've done a piss poor job, Comte. Christine will learn to learn to love me, you'll see. She already does on some level because I can fill her soul with music."

"You can't live on nothing but music," Philippe said.

"It's better than a loveless marriage for the benefit of society," the phantom countered. "You would have chosen that path. You would have never been able to truly love La Sorelli."

"I didn't love her," he said. "Not the way Raoul loved Christine."

Christine used the quarrel to her advantage and rushed away from Erik. Philippe grabbed her hand and pulled her close, shielding her body with his.

"You don't know what I want," she accused. "You should have asked me."

"You've always yearned for the music," Erik told her.

Christine remained firm. "If you had given me the choice I would have chosen both of you. But this… This is too much."

"But Raoul's pretty face and social standing would have taken that choice away. If you'd have married him Philippe would have forced you to quit the theatre and Raoul would have agreed."

"It's true we can't have everything we want," Philippe said, "but we do what's right. But tell me truly, what would you have done? Your face is known. Do you really think you could have disappeared?"

Erik reached for something on his belt. "I have that all planned out." He held up a piece of broken glass. "The phantom is a deformed madman, yes?"

"No don't," Christine cried.

"What did Buquet say? No nose? Shall I start there?"

"This is madness," Philippe said. "Raoul please…"

"My name is ERIK," the Vicomte yelled. He gashed his cheek open and moved the bloody glass towards his eye. "How much is too much? I'm supposed to look like a corpse with a vacant stare."

Christine was weeping on her knees. "Stop please."

"Come with me and I'll stop," Erik countered.

"I'll go," she whispered as she got to her feet. "I'll willingly accompany you."

Philippe caught her hand. "Christine no. what if he hurts you?"

"He loves me," she whispered. "Besides, there's something he doesn't know. Something no one knows."

"And what's that?" Erik questioned.

Christine went to him and looked him straight in the eye. "I'm going to have your child."

"You're not lying are you?" he demanded.

Christine shook her head. "Not about this."

Erik smiled as the blood continued to flow down his cheek. "We'll go away together, just you and I. We'll be one happy family."

"Give me the glass Ra…" Philippe stopped himself. "Put the glass down. You wouldn't want to hurt Christine."

Erik leaned in and kissed Christine on the cheek. "I love you." He squeezed her hand and walked towards Philippe. "I would never harm her, Philippe. She is my freedom. You, however, are my past and I must let you go."

He lunged at the Comte, but Philippe was ready. He caught Erik by the wrists and tried to control him. But anger and passion fueled Erik, and he wrenched his wrist free and stabbed Philippe in the stomach.

"Goodbye brother," he whispered as he lowered the Comte to the ground.

"Erik?" Christine called softly.

"Yes my love?" he stood and turned toward her voice.

Shutting off her feelings, Christine clutched the boat's oar in her hands and swung it as hard as she could. Stunned, Erik slumped to the ground. Christine let the weapon fall and ran to Philippe's side.

"It was all you could do," he whispered. "It's alright." He tangled his fingers in her blonde curls.

"What if I killed him?" she wept.

"Don't think about it. Go get help."

"And leave you two alone?"

"Are you worried about one of us killing the other?" the Comte asked.

"Something like that," she whispered.

_We do what's right... _the Comte's words echoed in his own ears. _What's right..._

Christine ripped a piece of her petticoats off and opened Philippe's shirt. The wound looked shallow all things considered. She pressed the cloth against it to stop the bleeding. Christine gave into her emotions and let the tears fall and Philippe pulled her close, needing to still his own shaking.

And that was how Madam Giry, Reyer, and the managers found them.


	9. Epilogue

_Dear Comte Philippe,_

_I regret to tell you that the condition of your brother has not improved. His mood swings are violent and unpredictable and, at times, we must restrain and medicate him because we fear for his safety as well as the safety of the staff. _

_On his good days he roams the halls of the institution like a ghost talking to himself and reciting lines from some unknown play he claims to have written. Other days he plays the piano and the residents love to listen to his stories._

_The problem is, when Erik is present, he claims the stories are real, that he truly lived his wild tales. He talks about building a maze of mirrors for the Shah of Persia and even claims the he himself was the architect of the Paris Opera House. He can throw his voice and make inanimate objects talk. When Raoul is present he has no hint of musical talent and tells no falsehoods._

_ He asks for you often and both sides of his personality often beg me to have your wife, the Comtesse Christine, brought here. I do not know when you are planning to visit your brother, sir, but I urge you not to bring your wife. Your brother's obsession with her is most uncalled for._

_Otherwise I have no new news to report but I must congratulations on the birth of your son. May he have a long and healthy life._

_Dr. Olivier Bourg_

* * *

"Hurry up, we're going to be late."

The doctor looked up at his wife. "I just wanted to finished this letter so I can post it first thing in the morning."

Madeline nodded. "I understand, but you get so wrapped up in your work that you lose track of time."

"Aptly noted," Olivier said. She had no idea who the letter was for or the nature of the illness plaguing the Vicomte de Chagny, so her words were ironic. "But as you can see, I am dressed. Have you called the carriage?"

"It is outside waiting," she replied. "I'm so surprised they are still having shows at the opera house after all the trouble."

"Indeed." The doctor replied. "Do they know what actually happened?" He, of course, did know.

"No," Madeline replied. "Someone is keeping it under wraps. The talk is the managers are covering up something huge."

"You know I don't put much stock in gossip."

"I know," Madeline replied. "But you should hear what they are saying about Comte Philippe de Chagny."

"I can't believe someone would start gossip about such a respectable man."

"Isn't his brother off on some trip?" Madeline asked.

"The Vicomte is a naval officer," the doctor replied. "He has gone off on military maneuvers." He and Philippe had spoke the lie so many times that it felt like the truth.

"Well, if you believe the gossip, we are in for something new tonight at the opera."

"And what would that be?" Olivier knew better than to stop his wife. She would not be satisfied until she told her whole story.

"I heard that La Sorelli, the Prima Ballerina has quit the opera. Her secret lover has abandoned her to run off with a younger woman – can you imagine? She has retreated to her house and is drinking away her depression. Anyway, with her refusing to on they had to promote someone. Thankfully – and rather ironic if you ask me – the ballet Mistress has a daughter who has been waiting for a chance to step up and be in the limelight. Can you imagine?"

"I can," Olivier replied slowly. "More than you realize."


End file.
